At the house table, Jack Taylor asked curiously, “Jerel, where did you go?
I couldn’t find you at all this morning!”
Jerel gave a brief reply.
He was already starving, and even the sight of roasted potatoes made his mouth water.
“I took a trip down to Hagrid’s hut.
I’ve never seen anyone as tall as him before.”
Prefect Sinclair slunk over, wiggling his eyebrows gossipingly.
“You noticed it too?
Word has it Hagrid is a half-giant, but within Ravenclaw, we’re more inclined to believe he just has giant ancestry.
Otherwise, how could a giant and a normal human—*ow!*”
Sinclair’s tone had been growing weirder by the second, but before he could finish, an older girl beside him whacked him hard over the head with a textbook.
“That’s enough, Henry!
They are children!
Hello, everyone.
I’m Prefect Eleanor Brown, a fifth-year.”
Prefect Brown turned her head, greeting Jerel and the others with a warm, friendly smile.
Under Prefect Brown’s stern glare, Prefect Sinclair had no choice but to switch seats, enduring the snickers of the surrounding students.
Jack looked thoroughly confused, looking back and forth without understanding why Prefect Sinclair had gotten beaten up.
Just as he was about to ask, Jerel changed the subject.
“Taylor, our first class is Potions.
Have you previewed the material?”
“Just call me Jack, Jerel.
I read the first lesson last night.
The Cure for Boils potion doesn’t seem too hard.
I saw my mom brew it at home, and I even helped process the ingredients a few times.
Mom gave me some pointers, saying the potion isn’t difficult, but there are things to watch out for during the brewing process.
I asked her several times, but she refused to tell me.”
Jack sounded a bit dejected, though Jerel knew exactly why.
Those wizarding parents probably treated the spectacle of potions exploding when porcupine quills were added before taking the cauldron off the fire as a traditional rite of passage—just like everyone keeping secret about the Sorting Ceremony.
Prefect Brown smiled, offering no explanation either.
Soon enough, everyone had eaten their fill.
Prefect Brown gathered the first-years together, counted heads to make sure no one was left behind, and only then led them down to the Potions classroom.
Jerel really appreciated having such responsible prefects.
Watching the Gryffindor first-years two tables over stumbling around in a chaotic mess without knowing where to go, he felt immensely fortunate to have ended up in Ravenclaw.
At least Ravenclaw allowed studious students to exist without constantly yelling at them to go out and play.
Suddenly, Jerel spotted a red-haired boy.
Judging by his demeanor, he wasn’t a first-year. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
He carried the easygoing, broad-minded air of a Gryffindor, but lacked their usual reckless impulsiveness.
His eyes were bright and resolute, making him stand out among the Gryffindor students.
Jerel had a good idea of who he was.
“Bill Weasley.
Traditional Gryffindor pure-blood family, stellar student.
He’s three years younger than me, but we’re friends.
He’s different from your average Gryffindor.”
Prefect Sinclair appeared out of nowhere, whispered into Jerel’s ear, and then miraculously vanished again.
First-year Potions was taken jointly with Hufflepuff, bringing the total number of young wizards from both houses to over thirty.
Jerel noticed there were only about seven or eight Slytherin first-years.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff had roughly fifteen or sixteen each, while Gryffindor had the most, with over twenty.
Pairing the houses for classes this way was likely meant to keep the numbers balanced.
Still, given the massive difference in numbers between Gryffindor and Slytherin, Jerel wondered if Gryffindor would take the opportunity to pick on Slytherin.
Surely they wouldn’t start a brawl right here?
The dungeon classroom lacked natural sunlight, but it was by no means dim.
The light from the magical flames was steady and widespread, illuminating the tables brightly.
Jerel waved his hand over the desk and found that no shadow was cast on the surface—much like an operating room’s shadowless lamp.
This made potion-making immensely convenient.
“I teach you the art of potion-making in the hope that you will appreciate the subtle magic and exact power of potions, not so that you can wave your hands around foolishly like brainless Mandrakes.
Now, open your textbooks to the Cure for Boils.
The brewing instructions are on the blackboard.
Gather your own ingredients, and hand in an acceptable potion before class ends.”
Professor Snape’s deep, silky voice resonated abruptly from behind Jerel.
Hearing the simmering annoyance in his words, Jerel felt like he had just been scolded.
Terrified, the young wizards in the room hurriedly flipped open their textbooks.
Once they saw what ingredients were required, they swarmed the store cupboard in a rush, terrified that taking too long would draw Professor Snape’s ire.
“Line up!
One at a time!
Does such a simple concept require your humble teacher to instruct you?!” Professor Snape looked even angrier now.
With a few swift flicks of his wand, he manually forced the young wizards into an orderly line.
Under Professor Snape’s blatantly disdainful gaze, Jerel finished gathering his ingredients and returned to his table to begin preparation.
“Hey, Jack, aren’t you going to prep your ingredients?” Jerel caught Jack’s movement out of the corner of his eye and grabbed his hand to stop him.
Jack snapped back to his senses, dropping the snake fang he had been about to throw into the cauldron.
He looked back to check that Professor Snape wasn’t nearby, let out a sigh of relief, and whispered aggrievedly, “That was terrifying.
My mind went completely blank, and I forgot the whole brewing procedure.
Thanks for catching me, Jerel.”
Seeing that Jack had regained his composure, Jerel released his hand and prepared to brew his own potion.
Crushing snake fangs into powder—no problem, simple enough. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Preheating the cauldron—no problem, wok cooking required preheating too.
Four measures of crushed snake fangs—no problem, he would measure them out in advance.
High heat for ten seconds, medium heat until steaming, extinguish the flame after boiling to dissipate heat—this was a critical step, worth marking down.
Potion-making shared commonalities with cooking.
Though Jerel’s culinary skills were mediocre, he knew that heat control was paramount during cooking and dramatically affected the final flavor.
Just like stir-frying shredded pork: if the heat was too low, the gamey odor wouldn’t cook out, and the entire dish would be ruined.
Jerel read further down the recipe: four horned slugs and two porcupine quills were also required.
How to prepare them?
Hm, it wasn’t written.
Jerel hesitated.
When making soup, nobody threw ingredients whole into the pot either—they were either diced or sliced, or at the very least, washed clean.
These horned slugs and porcupine quills still had dirty dust clinging to them.
Considering he would be learning Potions from Professor Snape for years to come, Jerel simply raised his hand to consult the professor directly.
Professor Snape, who had been watching them closely the entire time, arrived quickly.
Seeing that Jerel hadn’t processed a single ingredient yet, a flicker of displeasure glinted in his dark eyes.
“My esteemed Mr.
Prent, do you have an issue with me, or do you have an issue with the blackboard?
Why has everyone else begun while your ingredients remain entirely untouched?”
Jerel showed no fear, asking his questions earnestly:
“Professor, I would like to know how finely the snake fangs should be crushed for optimal results.
Is there an ideal temperature for heating the cauldron and taking it off the flame before adding ingredients?
Are there specific stirring speed requirements?
And why don’t the horned slugs and porcupine quills require prep work—would slicing or grinding them enhance the potion’s efficacy?”
Jerel’s cooking skills were average, but he had watched plenty of culinary videos and remembered a fair bit of knowledge.
For instance, marinating and massaging meat made it tender;
Sweet and sour pork should be fried for the first time when the oil reached a medium heat, gently nudged without stirring, and flash-fried a second time at high heat;
Stir-fry oil tasted much more aromatic if Sichuan peppercorns were fried in it first and immediately scooped out once they changed color;
Adding a splash of white vinegar when stewing meat helped break down tough fibers, and so forth.
He believed that to master Potions, the precision of ingredient preparation and the fineness of the brewing process were essential skills he had to master.
And these questions would surely capture Professor Snape’s attention.
Sure enough, Professor Snape’s eyes widened slightly.
He lowered his gaze, scanning Jerel up and down.
Finding nothing remiss about him, he let out a sharp scoff through his nose, his voice slow yet laced with unspoken menace.
“That is not for you to know.
Now, immediately start your potion.
If I do not see an acceptable brew from you before class ends, you will lose a tiny ten points for Ravenclaw.”